A Funny Little Thing Called Fate
by Jayni
Summary: AU/AH. Eric Northman is an actor, just doing his best to keep working, but finds himself drawn to a mystery blonde he meets in an elevator, and his life becomes stranger than any movie.
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, I was eight year-old Eric Northman, the youngest boy to win an Academy Award for a supporting role. Twenty years later, I'm that guy whose been in some stuff, kind of looks like that other actor who's way more famous, and sometimes pops up in tabloids linked to some actress or another. 'Romantically', as it was presumed.

This is supposed to be my next big thing. The big hope for a comeback, according to all the media buzz. Pam has been grinning from ear to ear since she picked me up at the airport yesterday. Today, she beamed twenty watts brighter when she picked me up for the junket.

Not because she's my agent and this is a potentially big thing for my career. She's just your run of the mill sadist.

Between interviewers she'd wave at me with her Blackberry in her primly manicured hand, smiling too brightly just so no one could mistake it for sincere. I was trying to be on my best behavior, but she was obviously goading me to cause some kind of a scene.

Clearly, she wasn't concerned about job security.

I tried to keep the rhythm going. Stand, greet, sit, smile, keep smiling, answer questions, stand, goodbye, next.

Every interviewer has their own little gimmick to stand out. Sometimes they'll ask off the wall questions like if I ever ate marshmallows with peanut butter. Or this guy, who I was shaking hands and thanking for taking the time to come out, looked like a bad Elvis impersonator, post drug-addiction.

"Thanks from the readers of Bubba Blog, always a fan, little man," he pointed a finger at me like a gun and clucked his tongue. Pam wasn't even trying to hide her giggles. I swear I heard her slap her thigh. She was enjoying this entirely too much.

'Little man' was a throw back to my claim to fame. I'm six fucking six feet tall now, and even if I grew another foot before I die, I will always get people calling me that. It isn't terrible, except after twenty seven quick interviews, and more than half have used up the gag to dead.

Pam, braver than any man, stepped up onto the platform they'd set us up on and handed me a compact of matte finisher to touch-up. I was playing mature enough not to snatch it from her hands.

"You're doing fine..." her throat cleared. I suspected she wanted to call me by my famesake, but wasn't going to push it any further. I should've felt relieved. "You just got the one left. Then you're free to go."

I touched up the shiny spots on my face. I could afford an assistant to be around to do it for me, not since my last girlfriend, and Pam wouldn't fill those shoes since enjoyed reminding me of my poorer decisions.

"Just one more," Pam said again, this time with a hand on my arm.

I glanced at her arm, assessing it as a meager version of an apology, and then back at the small mirror in my hand.

"'l'll even clear a path to the elevator for you, and make sure no one tags along behind," she was typing on her Blackberry as she continued talking to me, holding her hand open for me to hand her back the compact. I gave it back to her, and her hand made a vague gesture, "Unless you want me to send in that one redhead, you know, the one who said you reminded her of her third husband. She had a pleasant southern drawl." Pam's voice tapered off, and I realized my next interviewer was behind me. I knew it had to be a woman because Pam was leering.

The cameramen came in front of me to check my mic, and I was adjusting the collar of my shirt. I felt a hand land on my shoulder, and I caught the woman's scent. It was light, sweet - natural. I was trying to place it; it was almost nostalgic.

I turned around and her hand fell from my shoulder and I was greeted with a blinding smile. I offered my hand to her, noticing, oddly, that her hair was the same color as mine. Her features were delicate, and I could've sworn I'd seen her someplace before. I offered my hand and hers glided into mine: "Eric Northman."

"Claudine Crane, it's a pleasure," she introduced herself. Her hand moved from being inside of mine to around my forearm. "I don't want to seem rushed but, my cousin's wedding's today so-"

I let out a breath that was almost a chuckle. I wasn't sure why I'd gotten so caught up just now. The way she approached was as if she knew me better, but really she just wanted to get a move on. And by the way she looked at me, she didn't seem to expect a more casual greeting, so I ruled out that we had met somewhere before. "Oh, yes of course," I said, as I moved back to my seat, and under the spotlight. Claudine sat down across from me, and waited for me to give her some cue. I gave her a slight nod.

"Alright then. Mr. Northman, in this movie you play..."

The rest of the interview proceeded little to no different than before, though I filed the odd encounter someplace in my mind for future reference.


	2. Chapter 2

For all her gibes and taunting, Pam is a good agent. She had only taken over for Bobby a few months before I was cast for the film we were promoting this morning, but she promised me that if I wanted to a comeback she could give me one.

The movie was starring acclaimed actor Russell Edgington. He's been in the business for decades, but he's finally find a new niche as an older father character, and the public was eating it up. The plot was about his character's relationship with his daughter throughout her lifetime, mostly played by an up and comer, Amelia Broadway. She started out as one of the many new popular barely legals, featured in major grossing summer blockbusters for a few years, and this was her first token indie feature. Between those two at top bill, even the small role I was playing as one of her three love interests was enough to put me back on the map. I was already getting offers for scripts, instead of hunting them down like I had to when Bobby was my agent.

But aside from Pam's successes, to which I would only herald far from her earshot, she could only try her best to get me an empty elevator car. There was already a woman, stashed in the corner by the controls. I was more surprised when the doors were stopped and Russell and Amelia both slid inside. The doors stayed open for much longer than they wanted to because they were far kinder to the press than I ever planned to be.

They hadn't noticed the passenger already in the car. I can't see how.

She was blonde. The same shade as mine. But much shorter, than Claudine had been. It had to be a coincidence, right? Regardless, she seemed completely not interested in us.

Amelia had her arm threaded through Russell's as soon as the doors closed. He affectionately ran his knuckles along her cheek. "How's my little girl?" He chuckled.

"Fine, but did you see that one with the red hair? Eric, even you must've noticed, right?" She, and well, anyone who knew me more than a day, knew how I felt about the press. I didn't have much to do with any of them. I just liked to act; I wouldn't watch the movies if someone didn't make me, since I consider most of my job done when I walk off set.

"The one with all that mascara?"

"That's the one. Frightening."

I almost wished Pam were here, if only because I knew she would appreciate the conversation. I found my eyes wanting to check out the blonde in the car, but distracted myself with my iPhone. The elevator stopped on the 14th floor and a woman got on, and her presence made the glass-walled car feel like a lock box.

"Oh. My. God."

Even Russell flinched. That was comforting somehow. I casually noted that Amelia's arm retreated from his. It wasn't that much of a secret among the cast and crew, but she was at least trying to maintain discretion.

The off-the-rack business woman shuffled in, with her rolling briefcase, nearly dropping it while hastily reaching for the button for the lobby, but seeing that the parking level that we were getting off on was lit, she left it. I pressed my back into the rear of the car.

I noticed then that the mystery blonde was getting off on the ninth floor. I wondered if I should get off, too, if just to escape the brunette who lacked respect for my personal space.

"You must all be here about that movie, oh my, I'm a lawyer by day, but movie goer by night, and I just can't - can't believe my luck! I'm Selah." Her hand was out and it was pointed right at me.

Amelia, who was now standing between Russell and I, reached over and took Selah's hand. "That is a lovely lovely ring you're wearing on your left hand there."

Mystery blonde head moved slightly, but I couldn't tell if she made a noise or if it was the elevator doors. I noticed then that her hair was done into a french roll. I could see silver pins and beads, and it completely didn't match her yoga pants and over-sized hoodie ensemble. Mysteries abound.

The elevator car jerked and an alarm sounded. And now there was an office woman's face planted in my chest. My arms were braced above her, almost in a posture of surrender. My phone was still in my hand and I hazarded a glance. I'd only been in the elevator less than two minutes, but it felt like the longest ride of my life.

Russell backed into his own little corner offering me an expression of his deepest sympathies. But the fine line that his lips were pressed in made me think he was trying really hard not to laugh. He cleared his throat. "It would appear the elevator is stuck."

"Oh. My -"

"God is no engineer," Amelia interrupted. Where the heck had that come from? She moved around to the mystery blonde, which gave me hope that she would turn around so I could see her face, but she didn't.

My hands were still up in the air. "Cecile?"

"Selah."

"Uhm, yes, Selah. If you don't mind..."

"I'm claustrophobic," she murmured while nuzzling into my chest. Her fingers were curling into my shirt, and my hands pressed to my temples and I pressed the back of my head to the wall. I gritted my teeth, reminding myself that I had just told two dozen people how much I had no qualm appealing to the sensitive female audiences.

Amelia was trying to contact someone on the intercom, and now Russell was openly laughing. "My, my, we find ourselves in quite the pickle don't we, Mr. Northman."

I suddenly wished for Pam. She wouldn't stand to see my outfit, most of my wardrobe handpicked by her, being smeared with over-the-counter cosmetics.

A voice came over the intercom, "We're very sorry, we've stopped all the elevator cars because of the power grid was temporarily compromised. We have to shut down power to the elevators and restart. You are perfectly safe. But we will need a few minutes before we can restore power fully and get you all moving again."

Everyone was pretty much rooted in their place, letting the news sink in. My phone still in one hand, I gently pressed my hands over Selah's shoulders. "I'm a little claustrophobic myself, actually," I said lamely.

She put her hands up between us, but only moved back half a step. The sign above the elevator doors quoted the capacity of the elevator as twelve people, and it felt oddly tight for just the five of us.

Selah started to say, "I totally totally understand..." and looked like she might retreat further, until she convenient caught sight of her watch - an accessory deserving more attention than her wedding band. "Oh but I'm going to be late, I'm meeting a client, and tsk - I -" her fingers began tapping on my chest, before one disappeared into her jacket pocket. "I knew it, I knew it, no signal. Maybe I could..." She started reaching for mine in my hand and I was ready to throw my hands back up in surrender.

The mystery blonde, who also had an iPhone, tapped Selah on the shoulder with it. She had yet to turn around, and it was frustrating the hell out of me. There was a flash of anger across her features but when she noticed me looking at her, Selah put on her falsest smile and she took the phone in both hands. "Oh this is, too too complicated for me. Oh but you have one just like it! Maybe you can show me?" She held the phone in both hands over her cleavage, her chin tucked down and her eyes looking up at me.

Russell, finally coming to my aid, "He might need a little more space to do that, dear lady."

Amelia, who nearly tripped over the woman's bag, expressed her scorn for it by moving it to rest on the doors. "Yes, Eric, you were always texting and whatever else on that phone of yours. Show her how those fingers move."

Russell leaned forward with his hands in his pockets, a grin of approval on his face. He liked Amelia's 'crassitude', as I had heard the crew whisper it. I, positively, did not.

But it was almost worth not killing Amelia to see the blonde turn her head. The smile that spread across her face seemed to take her by surprise. If it hadn't been for Selah pulling on my phone hand, I probably wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off my mystery woman.

She had her shoulder pressed into my chest and was pushing the new phone into my hand, and pressing the home button illuminated the screen. A notification for 47 messages. I unlocked the screen and the icons indicated 47 voice messages unheard, and over 100 text messages. "You sure are popular," I heard myself say.

The smile was gone, and I could only read her expression as being bored. "Not a pinch. Every one is from people waiting for me right here." She stuck out her thumb and indicated the lit up number 9 on the elevator console.

I showed Selah how to get to the screen to dial a number, meanwhile I could almost hear Amelia beaming in the two words: "New Orleans."

"Bon Temps," the blonde replied.

"Get. Out!" Amelia squealed, grabbing both of the blonde's hands. She seemed to take a liking to Amelia, if that second smile that snuck onto her face was any indication.

Selah was prattling on as discreetly as the space afforded her, "I know - I know - I know! You would not_ believe_ where I am right now-"

"Darlin', I do declare we should all want that," Russell ceased the moment to stay Amelia from all but shaking the car on its cables.

"But we're practically neighbours." The way Amelia said it, she might as well have said 'sisters.' Amelia's Southern accent wasn't as pronounced as she made it sound in movies, but talking with Mystery, it came right back. "Wow, that is _some_ ring," Amelia punctuated with a whistle.

Russell moseyed around Selah and I to spy over Amelia's shoulders. "My, my. Nails done, hair done. Do we have a bride in our midsts?"

The 'bride' didn't blush. Hardly flinched. There was no trace of a smile, just a solid nod.

Amelia looked ready to sound the horns of congratulations when Selah started juggling the phone in her hand: "Uhm, uh, hello? Hello? I think I pressed something - oh uh, who is this? We're in the elevator and -"

A very loud voice came through. Apparently Selah had answered another call by mistake, and put it on speaker. "Susannah Adele Stackhouse, you get your cute little rabbit tail out of that brayer patch of moody and get down here!"

The blonde mouthed, 'Just hang up.'

I found myself stifling a laugh.

Amelia spoke, loud enough for the phone's mic to pick up, "We're stuck in the elevator. We're on the fourteenth floor."

"... am I on speaker?" the voice asked, as though she already knew the answer. According to the screen, her name was 'Tara'. "Who all is in there with you?"

"Just a fellow Southern belle," Amelia replied. "Oh, and uh, two gentleman and a lawyer. I'll ask on the intercom how much longer they think it'll be."

"Well, uhm, Sookie, I don't mean to get ugly 'bout this but this is the one and only time I will say that you are in fact crazy. This whole thing, with the ceremony - I just -" Tara seemed to catch herself, probably remembering she was on speaker. What about the ceremony? "... wait did you say the elevators have stopped?"

Selah cleared her voice, rather indignantly. "I was in the middle of a call."

I tipped the screen though I could see it fine from where I was standing. "Looks like they hung up." I wanted to know more about this 'Sookie'. The cues pointed to bride in progress, but I didn't want to be convinced. I was looking at a girl with hair and nails done, but in a track suit and running shoes, and it didn't look like she was in any rush to get to the altar.

"Is Sookie actually in there with you?"

I relieved Selah of the phone, and brought it up in front of my face, not inclined to take it off speaker. Sookie's expression changed ever so slightly, like she was rolling her tongue around in her mouth. I just watched her as I spoke to Tara, "Well. The person whose phone I presume this is stands at five foot some inches. Blonde." Sookie showed no reaction... yet. "And roughly a size twelve."

I knew I was grinning, but I couldn't help myself. I'd never been with a woman above a size ten, and those were European sizes.

Sookie's lips looked so smooth in the shape of an 'o', and clearly wanted to say something, but chose not to. She was being stubborn. Like she had sworn never to speak to Tara ever again and was more than ready to carry it out. I found it so... damn cute when she held up her six fingers for me to count.

Then proved me wrong when she held up two more, to make a total of eight.

"Eric!" Amelia cried. She put her hands up to cover Sookie's ears as if it weren't already too late. "She is no bigger than me." Then she glanced down at Sookie's chest, and my eyes followed hers. "For the most part," she added.

That did it. Our bride was blushing now. I calculated that she must have found a chance to escape somewhere between the hairstylist and the makeup artist, because she didn't have any makeup on. Either that, or I needed to hire the guy immediately, because her skin looked flawless.

Selah repeated, "My call?"

"I'm sorry - Tara, is it? - but _Sookie_," I tested the name, only to find Sookie's eyes roll at me. "Was kind enough to loan her phone to another passenger, who is late for an appointment."

"Unless it's her wedding day-" Tara's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "Sookie wins. Is she standing glaring at the phone?"

"Not at the phone," Russell answered for me, glancing at Sookie and giving me a knowing look. It wasn't exactly a reprimand as a 'I'm watching you, Mister.' Ironic, considering his hands were gently massaging Amelia's shoulders and I swear she might have purred. I wasn't even entirely sure he swung that way, so much as enjoyed the theatrics of having a beautiful younger woman at his side.

The intercom buzzed to life. "Yes, sorry, we're still here working on it. It will be another minute or two. You might want to brace yourselves and any free items. The car may jerk slightly to start, but there's no need to panic. That is just the emergency backup brakes disengaging, to give way for the standard stopping brakes."

Tara snorted. It could've been a laugh. "I heard that Sook. If Mr. Size Twelve or Miss Southern Belle be so kind as to see the car stops on the ninth floor, we'd be mighty obliged."

"Can't wait to meet you," I said. "If Sookie doesn't stop me dead with her silent treatment."

"Oh, that won't kill you. But she's got a mean right hook."

I sucked some air between my teeth, and smacked my lips together. "Oof, and me with nowhere to hide."

Amelia's hands had since dropped from Sookie's face, which was affording me with another expression: a frown.

Tara hung up. And only a moment later the elevator sprung back to life and Selah barreled into me, and I believe her hand found a space between my belt and my pants. I recovered my footing quickly, moving both phones into one hand, I gently took her by the shoulders and held her upright and firmly away from me. "Are you okay?" I asked Selah, now that she was safely apart from me. I wasn't concerned, but I thought I could at least make it look like I was. Sookie could be watching.

The next ten minutes went faster than I would've wanted, but not than I expected. The elevator stopped at the ninth floor. A black woman with her braided hair pulled to one side and flowers threaded in reached in and grabbed Sookie, and in a flurry of peach taffeta disappeared with her out of sight.

Russell and Amelia did their best to dissuade Selah's inappropriate advances. Russell even offered to take her picture with me and Amelia on her antiquated phone, only for her to reveal she had mistaken me for another actor. Someone who debuted roughly around the same time I had, but had grown to hold much more acclaim.

Russell and Amelia exchanged cheek kisses before getting into separate town cars. Amelia glared at me before holding up eight fingers, to remind me of my recent impoliteness. I gave Russell a wave before jumping into a cab and requesting a ride to my hotel, which was a bit outside of downtown - roughly fifteen minutes away. Traffic at this hour made it more like thirty.

While I was looking out the window, thinking about the oddness of the last half hour, the phone rang. I answered mechanically, but before I could say anything, Tara's voice screeched out.

"Susannah Adele Stackhouse, you get out of that bathroom this instant! Don't make me break down this door!"


	3. Chapter 3

Pam was kind enough to give me the rest of the day off. Perhaps she was just trying to prevent me from committing a homicide.

Having the day off didn't explain why I found myself getting out of a cab in the parking lot of a church thirty miles East of LA. Even the blinking dot on the screen of Sookie's phone indicating that my phone was somewhere in the immediate vicinity didn't explain it. And nothing at all that I could imagine could explain why there was a white hearse parked with cans tied to it and the rear door decorated with a costly bridal wreath of white lilies.

When I drew closer I saw the sign. 'Stackhouse-Compton Matrimonial Memorial.' Is that even a thing? What does that even mean?

And how was a Methodist church permitting it to happen here? Weren't there rules?

Then again, they did use it for The Graduate. But shooting a movie in LA was par for course, but there's a hearse dressed up like a royal wedding was taking place. I'm not Christian, and I'm not from LA, but I'm pretty sure this is weird.

Sookie didn't come off as the goth-emo type, but maybe I missed when they put the black lipstick on. But she didn't come off as a blushing bride either, unless provoked, but I didn't see a camera crew or grip trucks or a food van. And there was no one stopping me from come in if this was a set for something.

I questioned again what I was doing here. Even if I crashed the, uh, 'ceremony', it's not like I could wait for it to end to get my phone back without drawing some unwanted attention. I could go back to my hotel, leave a message on my phone, or send a remote message to it to arrange an exchange.

But this was a piece of her. And I don't know why she was special. I didn't know why she made me feel this way. Even though I would hate myself for it later, if just because I hate not understanding my motivation, I didn't yet question why I was so drawn to this woman.

She was beautiful, sure. But. All signs pointed to strange-as-hell, and in less than an hour, she'd turned a self-semi-satisfied hermit into a stalker.

I hadn't missed much of the ceremony. I was able to slip in and took a sit in the back of the church. It wasn't very large, but the ceilings were quite tall. If it wasn't for the sound system, offering Dolby quality, the sound would've probably been lost somewhere in the front of the building and I wouldn't have heard a thing.

There was a giant white casket a step down from the altar. It was open. There was a photograph of a distinguished brown haired gentleman with somewhat sunken cheeks and a pale complexion mounted on the front of one of the podiums. Since I had already been introduced to the Stackhouse half of the proceedings, I imagined that this was the Compton.

It kind of felt like someone was playing a joke on me, but no one even glanced my way, and there was definitely no laughter.

And then she appeared.

She had been sitting in the front row and the priest, I guessed from his attire, motioned for her to take the podium. She was in a white dress that hugged her waist and fanned out to circle just above the knees. At first it looked like a strapless dress, but when she stepped through the different colours light cast in from the stained glass windows, I saw that her arms, shoulders, and collar were covered with a sheer fabric. If there were more detail I couldn't see it from where I was seated.

On her head was a small white cap, the shape of a tear drop, which hung a short white veil that covered her eyes and nose. When she reached the microphone, she lifted the veil back and it sat on the crown of her head. Instead of standing at the podium, she shimmied the mic from its holster and began to walk towards the casket. There were audible gasps.

I could have sworn her steps had gotten lighter the closer she got to the casket. I feel a cold shiver run through me.

"You all must be thinking I'm entirely too happy," she started, her hand dropped on the casket.

There was at least one sound of agreement from the groom's side, where I happened to be seated.

"We knew, Bill and I, that some way, some how, I would outlive him. It was just a fact of numbers," she paused, her hand coming up from the casket and both curling around the mic. "He was really good at numbers. Multiples especially."

There was a sudden bark of a laugh. I couldn't tell where it came from.

"I don't intend to be irreverent, but most of you know that William and I were already married... because the military has their rules about who could be notified in case of - well, this -" she tipped her head back towards the casket behind her. "But, uhm. We, uh, never had a chance for a wedding. Time just... slipped." The mic lowered for a moment. I think her hands might have been shaking. "It wasn't the missions, or the volunteering. It wasn't some rogue virus from the Indies or biological agent in the Middle East." She let out a scoff, "Who knew some idiot drug addict in his car would have done us in, eh, Bill?"

Her standing started to sway. The priest looked like he would get up from his seat off to the right of the altar to steady her, but she let one hand free of the mic and waved him away. "My husband wanted me to have my day. All that time he laid in that hospital bed all he could talk about was me having my special day." The mic lowered, this time with her whole arm, and then rushed back up suddenly, "I'd sit in an lay-z-boy my brother brought from our parent's house, wrapped up in my Gran's afghan, and uh... I would wait for him to wake up each day... And he'd wake up and tell me something like, 'Sookeh, Did you call the florists yet?" Sookie let out a shaky laugh at her own impersonation, followed by a shuddering intake of breath.

She was hesitant to rest on the coffin but when she did, her shoulders seem to relax, as if being closer to him was calming somehow. There was a heavy lump in the back of my throat, but I couldn't get myself to swallow it just yet. Not until she finished.

"Now, Bill, that Bill, he had an odd sense of humor. As old-fashioned as he was, he would give me anything I wanted, most of which I never asked for. Anyone - anyone on the left side of this church will tell you, Sookie never asks for anything for herself. Does it all her own." There were some sounds of agreement, in form of uh-huhs. "Well, some of them might say _Crazy_ Sookie." There was mixed sounds then, but it hushed quickly.

"Our first real date was at a drive-in. I don't know that they have many of those out here these days, but there are still a few about. I was with Tara and a few of our friends and we were doing a road trip through the Canadian Rockies when I met Bill. He was there looking into farming equipment or some such, and uh, there was this one cute little drive-in. Pick up trucks so far as the eye could see. Reminded me of home."

There were scattered chuckles.

"People all pointed their cabs away from the screen and had their blankets laid out, and snacks, and coolers, and uh..." she seemed to lose her train of thought. Her hand seemed to reach up looking for a lock of hair to twirl, but because of the styling, it found none. Instead she shakily brushed her finger tips behind her ear.

Her back stiffened, her shoulders squared, determined to finish her speech. I wanted to think it was that stubborn streak, because I couldn't bring myself yet to deal with her as a real person yet. With real feelings. I didn't know what I felt for her - didn't want to know what I felt - and didn't want the collateral damage that it would inflict on me if I let myself, at that moment, look at her as heartbroken.

"Yeah, well. It was uhm, a double feature. Dustin Hoffman's birthday was that weekend and uh, they wanted to celebrate it, I suppose. It was The Graduate, followed by Kramer vs. Kramer." Then her face changed, from looking off into the distance remember, to more narrow gaze to her audience. "Now, most of you know, and have said something about the fact that Bill is a mite older than me. And there were other things going on, including Bill's profession and me going to school..." She was losing herself on a tangent, but seemed to catch herself. "Let's just say, at the time, well, our relationship was in its early stages.

"I never thought of myself as the marrying type. I never saw it happening for me-I just," she stopped. Sookie cleared her throat, and rolled the mic between her hands, and quickly changed directions again, "We were watching and I don't know how many of you have seen it, but uh. The movie... by the time they get to the church, and he's done all that running, and 'affair'ing... it's actually not a great place-" she motioned a hand around her head in a 'crazy' gesture "- for the characters. But I was young. And there were all these new different feelings distracting me and, all that came out of my mouth was: My stars, that is one beautiful little church-" and she was nodding, as if agreeing with herself, and taking a slow look over to the altar and the surroundings, then added, "and yeah, Bill, it is."

She took a few steps away from the casket, as if returning back to the podium, but instead paced back to stand beside Bill. "The plan. The plan was to fly out here, with our close family and friends. And some others," she almost muttered, "Have our ceremony, and stay a night or two here, a weekend in LA with all our closest friends... and then fly to New York for the remainder of the two weeks we took off. Got a nice little apartment to rent that overlooks Central Park. And uhm, few months ago, y'all got your invitations in the mail and bought tickets and... well. We're all here, ain't we?"

She let the mic drop to arm's length again. Her other hand disappeared into the coffin. Maybe she was holding his hand. Or just brushing her knuckles against his. I shouldn't be using my imagination, but I couldn't help it. I realised I was sitting uncomfortable at the end of my seat, gravitating towards her and pushed myself back and pinned my back to the back of the pew.

I couldn't see a single tear roll down her face. I couldn't, and I didn't want to. Not for anything, not even with all I was hearing and how clearly she obviously had lost herself in love with her Bill.

"Now I know what y'all must be thinking. Crazy Sookie drug poor cold dead Bill all the way out west, only to drag him back east, to pull him down south. Now that would just be twisted." She was shaking her head from side to side, "Nope. No. He will go ahead to Louisiana, and wait for me to come back. It was his wish. He wanted me to not dwell. He wanted me not to see him go into the ground. He wanted me to have my day, my white dress, my flowers, my California sunshine. My stroll in the park -" Even when her voice caught, a pretty little smile danced across her lips. I swore she was looking right at me, but she didn't see me, and I asked myself again, what the fuck was I even doing here?

Even after she explained it all, and even as touching a story. It was still weird. But not weirder than me sitting there witnessing it all. Having a matrimonial memorial defied logic. Crashing a matrimonial memorial on the premise of a finding your cellphone was downright nutty.

I didn't want for her to finish, but I didn't want to be that guy. The one guy who gets up and leaves in the middle of an eulogy. But I shifted in my place enough and in the corner of my eye I saw a movement and turned to see that it was Claudine Crane. Sitting on the bride's side.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

After Sookie finished, the audience was no longer transfixed, and there was an audible collective exhale. People were able to shift in their seats, and some turned to each other and said a few words. The priest returned to the podium and was calling all participants to visit with Bill, and that was when I was able to sneak back out in the shuffle.

In front of the church there's little more aside from a parking lot. A tree out front with trunk as wide as a small car and a bench. No bushes, well cut grass, a few more trees along the sides of the church yard, and a small sign facing the street. I was half expecting a bus to pull to a stop right into the parking lot as I walked towards it, ready to cut to the next scene in the movie where I would be comfortably seated in the back row with the leading lady.

My feet stopped before I got off the pavement, and my eyes wandered. Across the street, there was a school. There was a banner promoting an upcoming dance. Bonita, home of the Bearcats.

I rolled my eyes when my brain decided to remember 9th grade Spanish, and Sookie's face was in my mind. I'd resisted checking to see if there were pictures on her iPhone. Or even look to see if she carried songs.

The damn things are part of my muscle memory, and usually - usually - I find a reason to have it out. Keeps me from interacting with people and their problems and unwanted attentions. But it was surprisingly easy. And now, easier still, because I didn't want to see pictures of her and Bill.

The taste that rose into my mouth reminded me what I had for breakfast, and I combed my fingers through my hair. Can't call Pam, don't have her number. I'm in the middle of La Verne without a cab.

And there were high heels clicking towards me, and I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Why, Mr. Northman. I never expected to see you again so soon." If Claudine were a less attractive woman, I would have say she crowed. "I didn't realise you knew my cousin."

"We met earlier today," I said, surprisingly casual. I didn't want to give up my one connection, and put Sookie's phone in my pocket. I had a chance to end this game here, and I was very consciously not doing so.

"What? How?"

I started to explain the elevator incident, but before I could finish my first sentence, Claudine's hand was motioning to dismiss me. I ran my tongue over my teeth under my lips, tempted to bite down on it. She was still press, so I had to behave. So when I turned around to face her properly, I had a cordial smile on my face that I'm certain didn't reach my eyes.

"We were all stranded upstairs until that was settled, but I'm kind of surprised Sookie was in the elevator with you," she bit off the last word, and was now sizing me up, less like press, and more like a prospective mother in-law. I sudden felt very annoyed with everything about her, from her blonde hair that was close to Sookie's but wasn't, to her too smart skirt suit with her designer shoes, to that snarky little quirk of the side of her lip that was her telling me she had the upper hand.

Usually, I'm generally apathetic to the press, and well, people in general. Something about the women in this family and making me feel something unexpected was becoming a really ugly pattern.

"Small world," I shrugged off, mostly casual. I clenched my fist around the phone in my pocket and let go. I contemplated counting down from ten in my head. Usually if I'm cornered by members of the press, I just walk away, but this was Sookie's cousin. The woman who I accidentally stalked to her husband's funeral, memorial, whatever the hell it was.

Claudine tipped her head back towards the church, "Different, huh?"

Was 'uhm, yeah?' an appropriate response, considering the circumstances? I cast my eyes down and gave a discreet nod. I had nothing to say to this woman about anything, let alone what I was doing there, or why I didn't regret being there.

I had felt weird. Definitely. But probably no more than anyone else. Even Claudine was shifting her weight from one foot to another as she glanced back at the church.

"It kind of makes you want a cigarette - I don't even smoke," she half-laughed, but Claudine couldn't bring herself to smile fully, not with the church in her sightline.

Some part of me agreed, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so I just stayed silent.

"So... you, what, cornered Sookie in the elevator, and asked if you could drop by?"

"I wasn't the only one in there," I almost spat back, sounding more defensive than I had wanted. I reasoned that I was still recovering from the intensity of Sookie's eulogy. I took a side step, adjusting my jacket, realising how hot it was to be simply standing. The sun was straight up, and the one tree in front of the church had branches too low to provide any shade to someone my height, or Claudine's height. "Russell, Amelia, and some other woman was in there with us."

"And yet, you're the one who came."

I gave no response to that. I clutched Sookie's phone in my pocket, drawing unnecessary attention to it. I could tell Claudine had seen me do it, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't know it was Sookie's phone.

"You have a track record." Her Blackberry was out and in her hand, her finger tapping against the side of it. It was like she was threatening to Google me right there and bring up photos of me with whatever model/waitress/actress I had gone out with in the last decade.

"I'm aware," I heard myself say. I didn't need to defend myself to her, so I didn't know why I said that.

"What aren't you telling me?" She wasn't asking as a reporter. But that didn't mean she wouldn't use it against me.

I'd be first in line to say I shouldn't be there. If for no other reason than there was nothing I could do. Her husband was dead, and I was just twenty - thirty - feet away from his body. I was staring at a white hearse that brought his body here, and would take his body away.

I could buy flowers. I could find some way to contribute to her stay in L.A. I could call in a favour, make her a private dinner reservation on a riverboat. I could fly to New York -

I could think of these things, I was thinking about doing these things, and Sookie didn't even know I was there. In my mind all I could see was her, from her track suit to her white dress, to the grin that she afforded Amelia, to that soft sad smile she sent down to Bill.

And now her cousin was standing there looking at me, with a puzzled look on her face, my brain could only read as some form of pity. I looked back at her, and in my mind I wanted to will her not to speak, but it didn't work. I should've learned from when I had wanted Sookie to look at me in the elevator; apparently, my stare didn't work on the women in this family.

"None of us know how to feel or what to say." I hadn't noticed that she'd moved. We were both standing staring at the hearse now. "It wasn't this hard at her parents funeral, as sudden as that had been, or at her grandmother's," Claudine stopped herself. I could hear her fidgeting with her phone. Not pressing the buttons, just drumming her nails against the back. "I think this time around she saw the opportunity to do something different, and did just that."

I felt my shoulders sag, relax for the first time since before I entered the church. "She did, indeed," I agreed, nodding numbly. "I didn't know they came in white," I added, referring to the hearse in front of us.

My lame observation seemed to break the spell, and Claudine straightened up. "Well, Mr. Northman, I'm going to head back inside before I'm missed. Will you be joining us?"

The first answer that came to mind was 'no', followed by a strategy which involved a cab, a call to my hotel, and calling my phone to leave a message. I could give Sookie's phone to Claudine, ask her to call me a cab, and say goodbye to that entire family right here and now.

But my feet fell in step with Claudine's until they got to the top of the steps of the church. Neither of us said anything as I reached my arm in front of her and opened the door for her, and then followed her inside. When we re-entered the church, she didn't file to the back of the line to say her last goodbyes to Bill. Instead she took a seat in an empty row behind all the guests on the bride's side, and motioned me to sit next to her. I did, keeping a professional distance.

We were companionably uncomfortable for the duration of the service.


	5. Chapter 5

I decided not to tell Claudine that I had Sookie's phone. I wouldn't be lulled by the truce we had formed in the last few minutes; it was a truce made out of proximity and little else. I could only imagine the type of man she thought I was for being there at all. Probably thought I'd moved from models to widows.

Frankly, I didn't care about how Claudine felt about me. Unless it had some influence on her cousin. Her cousin who was following the coffin as it came down the aisle. It was the cue for the congregation to stand to observe the procession as it passed. Everyone turned towards the aisle, and my aisle - which only consisted of myself and Claudine - followed suit.

Sookie was holding her head up, the short veil pulled back. In her hands she wasn't holding a bouquet, just a single rose, made of crystal.

I wasn't sure if it was Sookie alone who did the planning, but everything about seemed so very specific. There was evident acknowledgement of traditions of ceremony, but a clear dashing of the norm. It was like being in on the joke that no one had the balls to laugh at. And bride or no bride, that single rose was not meant to be tossed or caught.

But it would also never wilt.

There were a few choked sobs. I tried to allow Claudine some room to see past me, but she didn't seem all to pay any credence to the coffin as it passed. She bent her head a bit when Sookie passed, but Sookie didn't acknowledge anyone personally as she passed.

It seemed silly that I would think Claudine would have any influence where her cousin was concerned. Clearly, Sookie wasn't a person to be pressured or swayed. Even if she hadn't been the sole event planner, it revolved entirely around her, whether the audience liked it or not. This whole ceremony was done exactly to her letter, whether or not it was understood by the onlookers, or even acknowledged by her own kin.

But I had to keep in mind that Claudine was still someone to reckon with, at least her profession. At the very least, it was clear she wasn't a fan. Her interview had been rushed and mostly disinterested, and maybe it was healthy paranoia that kept me from risking Claudine having any knowledge that my phone wasn't in my own possession.

Feeling Sookie's phone in my pocket, I knew, that the technology was there in my possession - I could leave a message. I managed to figure out a way to locate my phone using Sookie's. I probably could've puzzled how to remote erase to safeguard my data. I like to think of myself as pretty fluent with an iPhone, and most other forms of technology that enable me to stay connected without actually having to deal with people unless it's necessary or beneficial.

And right now, the phone in my hand was the only thing I had to link me to her.

Tara, peach and taffeta, walked past, and scuffed her heel on the ground when she saw me, but fell back into step. I imagine I was the only person on the bride's side she didn't know, or at the very least, she might have noticed I hadn't arrived with Claudine. I highly doubted she would recognise me from the elevator incident, as fast as she had whisked Sookie away.

It was almost as soon as Tara passed our pew that people in the front of the church started mobilising. I still didn't have a program, and I wasn't sure what could possibly come next. Hadn't she said something about the body going back to Louisiana for internment?

I tried not to dwell to much on the logistics. Claudine helped interrupt my thoughts: "Northman."

"Crane," I tossed over my shoulder before turning to face her.

She had a clutch purse in one hand with some paper, I presumed was a program, while her car keys were in the other. They were jingled in my general direction, "Need a ride back to the hotel?"

I assume she meant the hotel where we had the junket. She couldn't know it wasn't my hotel. It was probably better to let her keep thinking that, so I nodded. I was gestured with a 'scoot' motion out of my pew, and let her walk by me to lead me to her car. Most of the guests were moving to the front of the church, so far as I could see, they were watching the casket being lifted into the hearse. There was a tall blond guy, who looked like he should've been wearing a letterman jacket with his arm around Sookie.

"Do you need to say goodbye before you go?" I didn't know what I would say, but I saw the line forming, and assumed that would be where Claudine would be headed.

Claudine watched, mostly Sookie, after a moment seemed satisfied enough to not feel the need to join in the fray. She shook her head slightly, "I'll see her tomorrow. I have to give my brother a ride to work."

I suppose this was her way of making sure I went straight home like a good boy. As we exited the church, I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was already four-thirty, and I don't remember having eaten anything for the day. Not that funerals, or weddings, give me an appetite.

Barely missing his cue, shy only a few seconds, a man about the same height as me with uncanny resemblance to Claudine appeared beside her. I stepped aside to let him walk beside Claudine, but he didn't, only offered me his hand, "Claude."

"Eric. Twins?" I asked, frankly, as I took his hand. His thumb stroked my hand, and he wasn't entirely discreet about checking me out.

"Triplets," they answered in unison. Claude's hand retreated quickly from mine, then, and he suddenly looked less interested in me than in the sun in the sky. I waited a few seconds, to see if a third sibling would suddenly pop into view like Claude had, but when that didn't happen, I read the sudden silence as don't-ask-won't-tell.

Claude afforded me the front seat of Claudine's two-door sporty Nissan, since I would be getting out of the car first. I did not envy him squeezing into the backseat.

I don't think of myself as good at making conversation. But Claudine didn't opt to put on the radio, and I could feel Claude watching me. The car got in line with a few others that were leaving at the same time, and as we inched towards the street from the parking lot, I tried to sound casual and asked, "What happens now?"

Claudine's hands slid on the steering wheel from ten and three to eight and four. "Nothing today, but I think in the morning, they've arranged a tour or something for all the folks from out of town. But Claude and I, we live here. There'll be a late luncheon tomorrow, a family reunion of sorts."

"Leave it to a Stackhouse to be economical." Claude made no qualm about looking bored. "Managed to roll ever family event into one. Tomorrow'll they'll set up the conchon de lait, someone'll announce they're pregnant,and I can holler Yahtzee."

My eyes widened, but hardly from being offended. Claudine chastised her brother with his own name and glared at him through the rearview mirror.

"Merely expressing my fondness for our Southern cousins and their customs." He shifted in the back, and when I turned my head, he was facing me, with his back to the window, a knee bent on the seat. "I've seen you somewhere before. I'm sure of it." Claude pointed a finger at me if he could place it exactly. Then guessed, "Miami?"

"Never been."

He snapped his fingers. "Tsk. You'd look lovely in white."

I do, but clearly he just had a roundabout way of asking if I was gay. I had been asked before if I could do an appearance during White Party Week in Miami a few years back... and yeah, now it's about raising money for AIDS/HIV research and LGBT causes, but really? It's still a thinly veiled sex party.

Not opposed, hell, Pam's gay and in spite of being an agent, she's the closest thing I can call a friend. It's just very much not my scene.

"He's an actor," Claudine supplied for me. I was half-surprised she didn't follow up with a long laundry list of my misdeeds.

"Ohh. An actor. I'm a performer myself," I turned and caught Claude pressing his lips together just before parting them into a dazzling smile. I'd used that look before, on women. It wasn't the first time I'd been on the receiving end, but we were in tight quarters.

"Yes, Claudine mentioned something about taking you to work after dropping me off." To make it clear that I had some place to be, and so did he.

His cast his gaze up for a second, getting the hint, but was seemingly unperturbed. "I'm a performer." And from some secret place, produced a business card, held firmly between two fingers as he rested his wrist on my shoulder.

I took it, and shifted my weight to lean against the door as if to face Claude better, while succeeded to shrug off his hand. His hands went up in surrender, although his face made it clear he had no intention of giving up. I glanced at Claudine, who was barely concealing her amusement. She'd found a way to not only to divert me from my pursuit of her cousin, but put me in direct line of sight for her own brother.

I made a silent wish that she never joined forces with Pam. And with her legs, Claudine would easily be Pam's type.

I focussed on the business card. "Fashion and Runway Model. Professional Dancer," I read aloud, before slipping the card into my front jacket pocket. "So where do you wait tables?"

"I prefer to dance on them. At Hooligans, three nights a week. Yourself?"

"Never afforded myself the opportunity," not that I hadn't ever been propositioned.

"Mr. Northman here is a bonafide award winner. And he's managed a steady stream of roles since," Claudine said vaguely. She wasn't defending me so much as trying to punch a hole in my artificial modesty. She probably knew as well as I did that most of the stuff I've been in sits on the shelves at Blockbuster collecting dust or takes up dead space on movie channel schedules. Squaring her shoulders back against her seat, and catching her brother's eyes in the rear view, she asked, "You don't mind do you? If I drop him off first?"

"Oh no, please. I'd love to see where award winners put their feet up in town these days."

I decided to change the subject back to the event of the day. "Did you know Bill very well?"

That shut them both up successfully until we came to a full stop at a red light.

Claudine's fingers curled into the steering wheel, "I'm not in touch with Sookie as much as I'd like." She spied the rearview, and the side mirrors, before adding, "She's out in Louisiana, and we're here. But we heard about him."

I realised then that what I had observed of Claudine in the church wasn't disrespect so much as genuine indifference. A sentiment more obviously portrayed by her brother who folded his hands behind his head and slouched across the backseat.

Not much else was said in the car, at least not to me. The brother and sister seemed to have their own secret language, of hand movements and gestures, a few words here and there. They felt no shame at all excluding me in such small quarters for the rest of the short journey. But they were affording me just enough distraction to not examine the phone burning a hole in my pocket.

These two weren't providing answers which I could probably find if I just flipped through Sookie's pictures, or accidentally skimmed her recent emails.

Claudine dropped me off at the side entrance to the hotel, and Claude tipped an invisible hat in my direction as he took my place in the front seat. She didn't drive off until the door closed completely behind me and I was inside. It was then and only then that I took out Sookie's phone.

Sookie didn't receive any calls or messages during the ceremony. Presumably since everyone she knew was there. Or knew where she would be. Or maybe Tara was really the only person who ever called.

There was an odd moment where I gave the valets a moment of dejavu, when I got yet another cab to take me over to The Standard, where my room actually was. Apparently the hotel's claim to fame is the view from the pool, but I couldn't care just then because I was starving.

I'd had my fill of being around people, and went straight to my room for the room service menu and settled for an overpriced, over peppered piece of what-could-be fish. When I got out of the shower, I decided to attend to the big flashing red light on the phone, which, I guessed correctly - was a message from Pam.

Pam doesn't leave a million messages. If she wants to reach you, she might call you a number of times, but she will only ever leave you one message.

"I ruined a perfectly fine pair of pumps taking the stairs after the elevator fiasco, all to ensure that my asset had made it out of the building safely, only to find that said asset had not only left the building but turned off his phone.

You have a photo session with the cast tomorrow at 12:20, I have emailed you the details. Since you can obviously look after yourself, I will be getting a foot massage and pedicure and expecting you to call me to tell me we are having lunch, on you. Somewhere nice."


End file.
